


please forgive me, father

by kingandqueeninthenorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6181429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingandqueeninthenorth/pseuds/kingandqueeninthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her voice was distinct. The sound was full and penetrating, and Sansa could hear an accent. “I see you, Sansa Stark. And I see your brother.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	please forgive me, father

Though he had saved her from the riots not so long ago, Sansa refused Sandor Clegane’s help now.

A thousand monsters she felt she had known, and he was the least of them; still, he put his knife to her and made her sing. Her voice was hoarse, her throat tight. The songs weren’t as clear in her head as they used to be, when she was stupid and believed in those things. She reached for every word and clutched tight, her voice trembling. She thought he might kill her if she stumbled over the words, and for some reason that scared her even though she hadn’t had much to live for in a very long time.

But he didn’t kill her. He left her without any more trouble, leaving only his bloodied cloak behind. He called her _little bird_ once more and then that was the end of it. The shadow that followed the Hound’s exit into the light of the hall seemed shrunken in size, like he left half of himself behind on the battlefield.

He left her alone, in the black of her room, thinking of how she might not be a bird, but she was still caged.

 

\---

 

A woman dressed all in red found her. Sansa jumped backward at the sight of her, tall and beautiful and terrifying. Her skin was pale against the red silks of her gown, even paler next to the shocking copper of her hair.

“The eldest Stark girl,” she said with the barest hint of a smile, and only then did Sansa see the figure in grey plated armor beside her. “Joffrey’s betrothed. Sansa Stark.”

The red woman seemed to fill the whole room. The red light of her had blinded Sansa to the man right next to her with the flaming heart sigil.

 _Stannis Baratheon,_ she thought, wondering if she feels relieved or terrified.

 

\---

 

Stannis saw the value in her.  As a prisoner, at least. She has traded captors, but not circumstances. She still belonged to someone else, though Stannis had less of an idea what to do with her. She was engaged to a bastard born of incest and was still sister to a traitor, which meant she should be dead one way or another. But she was a very valuable hostage, and that might have been the only importance left to her.

Sansa heard a lot of whispers regarding what was to be done with her.

 Kill her.

 Keep her.

Marry her.

Finally flowered, she would have made for an even better wife than a hostage. Her stomach twisted at the thought. She thanked all the gods that Stannis was already married.

 

\---

 

The man they called the Onion Knight brought Sansa writing materials. He told her that she was to be used to bring the Young Wolf to heel, though he said it much more politely.

“The king has written to your brother himself, asking that in return for you, he swears his fealty and surrenders the North to the Iron Throne.”

Sansa knew what her brother Robb would do, but he was a king now. His mind was different, she was sure. A sister was nothing next to a kingdom or a crown. 

“You might write to him yourself, as a sort of persuasion.”

Sansa sat in her chamber all through the day, thinking of something to write. She had thought of Robb a hundred thousand times since she left Winterfell. She prayed for him every day, sometimes twice. She had dreamt of seeing him again, and of what she wished she could say to him. He had been her only hope. He was still her only hope. But now, she didn’t have any words.

When the day turned to night, she lit a candle and then held the blank page over it, watching as it took to flame.

She shouldn’t have had to convince anyone of her value. She would not write to persuade her brother to save her life. She was through with pleading and begging. She was tired of singing sweetly.

Those were things that a bird would do.

They send King Stannis’s letter off alone.

 

\---

 

Sansa tried to remain out of sight in the days that followed. King Stannis meant her no harm, or so she was told, but she couldn’t be certain when the red priestess was whispering in his ear. Melisandre, they called her.

She caught glimpses of Stannis’s red queen as she ghosted down the corridors at his side. She was rarely away from him and Sansa saw far more of her than she did of Queen Selyse. She suspected that Stannis’s lady wife was only a prop to king’s royal claim. There was no mistaking who guided his hand in his affairs.

 _Not that it matters_ , Sansa thought. _There is no escape from the fire priestess._ Sansa had heard it said on more than one occasion that Selyse Florent was just as consumed by the red god as Stannis was consumed with Melisandre.

 _The red witch,_ she heard some call her.

Sansa found herself watching her from afar, wondering what it was about the red woman that unsettled her so much. She was powerful, for certain, and Sansa thought that might be reason enough to fear her.

Sometimes, in the evening, Sansa could hear her singing prayers for the dawn. Her voice was deep, rich, and haunting, following Sansa wherever she went. The sound bounced off every wall, resonating in every part of the castle. She could never truly hide from the boom of her voice.

 _I’m foolish to be so frightened,_ she thought. _She’s done nothing to me._

Still, the sight of her made Sansa shiver. She wondered how it could be that someone so stunning in appearance could be so terrifying to her. Sandor Clegane had been a grotesque sight, burned and scarred like nothing Sansa had ever seen before. He frightened her. But unlike Sandor, Melisandre was pleasing to the eye, and nowhere near as gruff or unpleasant. Sandor would’ve been called the real monster between them, but it was the red witch that Sansa feared.

Once, when she was wandering the castle aimlessly to placate her restless legs, a hand caught her by the wrist as she was walking. Sansa’s skin burned at the touch and she nearly yelped, but it took her breath away to turn and look into Melisandre’s eyes.

_She’s red through and through._

The red woman’s demeanor was calm, but Sansa thought she always seemed that way. Nothing seemed to shake her. She was never scared or unnerved or on edge. She smiled at Sansa serenely, impossible to read. She had never seen the red woman as anything but composed.

Sansa tried to swallow but her tongue was thick. Her heart hammered in her chest so loudly that she was certain Melisandre could hear it, and that only frightened her more. She felt the sweat beading up on her brow as fear wrapped around her, constricting like a snake.

“I have seen you,” the red woman said. Her eyes were dark, the ruby at her throat redder than before. It even glowed. “In the flames.”

Sansa blinked, wide eyed and terrified. The corners of her mouth pulled down and her lips parted in a little gasp.

Her voice was distinct. The sound was full and penetrating, and Sansa could hear an accent. “I see you, Sansa Stark. And I see your brother.”

The skin of her hand against Sansa’s wrist was fiery hot. Sansa tried to pull away from her scorching grip, but Melisandre held tight. “Please, you’re hurting me.”

She dropped Sansa’s wrist. “I see darkness ahead for you.”

Sansa pulled her wrist back to her chest, rubbing at where the fire priestess had held her. Much to Sansa’s surprise, there was no imprint burnt into her flesh. “There’s already been darkness for me.”

As if by magic, the sleeve of Sansa’s gown slipped down, and the bruises there were visible. Melisandre looked only briefly, and Sansa was struck by the thought that the sleeve did not need to fall away for the red woman to know.

“Are you a good girl, Sansa?”

Sansa could hardly look at her. “Yes.”

“Will you stay that way?”

It felt as though her heart might drop into her stomach, so Sansa turned on her heel and fled.

 

\---

 

The Hand of the King brought Sansa to a private room upon Robb’s arrival.

“Your brother has asked to see you for himself before he bends the knee,” Davos Seaworth explained as he led her down a long hall. Sansa looked at the walls as they passed, seeing freshly hung Baratheon tapestries. Any trace of the Lannisters had been washed from the Red Keep, and then adorned with flaming hearts and stags. “The talk of the red woman seems to have given him reason to doubt His Grace’s word.”

Sansa held back a grimace. Though she hadn’t liked her from the start, Sansa truly had a reason to be frightened of her now.

They arrived at a door, which guards opened for them. Davos gestured her inside, telling her he would return momentarily with Robb. He left her and the door closed behind him. Then she was alone with her racing heart.

Her mother was through the door first, taking her up in her arms and sobbing into her hair. Lady Catelyn’s body sagged with relief, her whole frame soft. She felt very thin in Sansa’s arms. Grey Wind bounced about at their feet, making high pitched, whiney noises.

When her mother pulled away, Robb seized her instantly. He was so big and broad that he took up her entire field of vision as he brought her to him. She hardly recognized the feel of him. His body was solid against hers and it was so much different than it was the day she hugged him before she left Winterfell. He had been a boy then, strong but soft.

She looked up at him. He towered over her now. His face had grown leaner and his beard thicker. She could even see some of the lines of war on his forehead. Worry lines. Robb was a man grown, truly, and Sansa couldn’t help but feel like a child in his arms. His grip was tight, and Sansa felt her fading bruises aching under his touch.

He pulled away from her briefly, holding her at arm’s length. His expression was hard, his voice deep. “They say the red woman makes sacrifices to the fires.”

Though Sansa had never seen it, she knew it to be true. Everyone was always saying that she burned men.

“I dreamt you dead. I had to see for myself.”

Sansa wanted to say something but she couldn’t. _I see darkness ahead for you._

“Father is dead. Bran and Rickon are burned,” Robb said softly. He put a hand to her cheek while the other smoothed her hair. “Arya is gone. Winterfell is a smoking ruin. I had to know you were alive before I gave up the fight.”

Sansa felt the tears brimming in her eyes.

“Revenge isn’t worth losing you.”

He pulled her against him, gripping her tightly. He lifted her up so that her feet were off the floor and her head fell on his shoulder. And only then could she see past him.

In the corner of the room, beside her lady mother, stood a petite girl with a face full of soft features surrounded by pretty brown curls. She met Sansa’s eyes hesitantly and then looked away, shy as can be.

“I swear my fealty on the morrow,” he said into her neck. She hardly heard him.

Though Sansa was pressed against Robb, in that moment it felt like a whole world occupied the space between them.

 

\---

 

The former King in the North bent the knee before a crowd of people with Sansa at the head of them. He had marched the remainder of his army all the way to the Red Keep to surrender his crown and his land to the throne. The dream of Northern independence was done.

Sansa watched as Robb knelt before Stannis, his head bowed low and his sword at the king’s feet. Stannis regarded her brother with a cool, stern look, and Sansa knew that Stannis did not yet trust him. But he was the only surviving trueborn son of Ned Stark, and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

Catelyn Stark gripped her daughter’s hand as she stood beside her. Her mother’s mouth was a tight, hard line and the ferocity of her grip on Sansa’s hand could’ve broken bones.

_Is she comforting me or am I comforting her?_

Her lady mother was a haggard woman now. Sansa could see the loss of each and every sibling in the hollows of Catelyn’s cheeks and in the wrinkles on her forehead. Her mother had been a pretty woman, and the only lines Sansa was used to seeing had been near her mouth from years of wide smiles. But now, those lines were the least of them.

She always seemed like she was pulled inside herself, her hands clasped. Sansa had caught her mother digging her nails into the flesh on her palm on more than one occasion as she helped prepare Robb for the king. Even now, her shoulders slumped forward.

Sansa couldn’t help but worry for her mother. They were the final three Starks and she couldn’t bear the loss of another family member. The only ones she had left.

But another Stark had since come into the fold, a stranger to Sansa: Jeyne Westerling, who stood on the other side of her mother.

Robb and Catelyn had sat with Sansa the night before, telling her what had happened while they were apart. Sansa had come to learn that Robb may have dominated on the battlefield, but he had fumbled every political move he had made. The path that led him to the capital was a twisted mess of childish mistakes and bad decisions. One of them would be following them home.

When the letter found Robb at the Crag, the deed was already done. Jeyne Westerling was bedded one night and married the next.

Her family was half its initial size, plus one Westerling.

Sansa tried to keep her eyes on Robb, but her gaze made its way to the red woman. Sansa’s eyes found the priestess’s immediately, and she realized that Melisandre had already been looking at her. Her stomach rolled. She looked away, to Robb, and then back to the red witch.

And her eyes were on Robb, too.

 

\---

 

The night before they departed, he came into her chamber unannounced, barring the door behind himself before she could even protest. When he turned to look at her, tucked away in her bed, his face showed nothing of remorse. She wanted to scream at him. Nothing was sacred. He couldn’t leave anything to her.

He was far too used to doing as he pleased. _He still has the mind of a king,_ she thought. _Far be it for me to correct him._

“I wanted to speak with you before we leave,” he began. “Alone.”

Sansa looked down at her hands, where she had a white knuckle grip on her bed sheets. She forced herself to let go and then played at calm, smoothing the wrinkles with the tips of her fingers. She focused on flattening one wrinkle at a time, doing anything she could to avoid looking at Robb.

“We used to be close once,” he said after a long stretch of silence.

 _We were close before you took up a crown. We were close before you put your cause ahead of me. We were close before I was deemed less than the Kingslayer. We were close before you bedded and then wedded a woman you hardly know, with no thought for your sister, a captive in the capital._ “Very well then,” she conceded.

“Might I sit?”

“I would prefer it if you stood.”

Robb looked surprised but he did not move from his place before the door. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, looking at her and then glancing away. His eyes found the floor before he spoke again. “I had a thousand things to say and now I lack for words.”

“It’s very late,” Sansa said then, looking for a way out of the conversation if she could find one.

“I’m not tired.”

 _I guess it doesn’t matter what I want, or how I feel._ “Say what you will.”

Robb shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then he folded his hands together, fingers twitching as though they needed to be better occupied. Sansa wondered if it was strange to go from being a king on the battlefield to a lord in a castle once again. _How many men has he killed?_ The thought came unbidden and it unsettled her. _He has killed men, just as The Hound did. You were so afraid of him; is Robb any different?_

“You must hate me,” he started. “I took so long. Too long, I know.”

 _Hate._ The word was angry in her ears. “I don’t hate you, Robb.”

“You have every reason to,” he said darkly. “Look at you.”

He gestured to the ugly welt on her arm, exposed through the gauzy material of her nightgown. It was red and brutal beneath the white fabric. Sansa covered it with her hand, swallowing thickly. “I don’t hate you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I don’t,” Sansa insisted, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. “Please, Robb. I only want to go home. I hate it here, and I’m afraid.”

“There’s nothing to fear any longer. As long as I’m living, no one will lay a hand on you again.”

Sansa could only hear Melisandre’s voice in her ears. _I see darkness ahead for you._ “I only want to go home,” Sansa pleaded.

“I’m going to restore Winterfell, I promise you.”

_I want to be alone with my family, and to forget Jeyne. I don’t want a stranger in my home, and I don’t want to call her a sister. I want things to be as they were, before everything went so horribly wrong._

“I’m sorry for Jeyne,” he said finally. “I’m sorry to have forced her upon you. But I had just learned of Bran and Rickon, and something inside me broke.”

Sansa wanted to cry.

“And she was there.” His words were slow and dragging. “And so was I.”

 _She was there,_ Sansa repeated to herself. Jeyne was only bedded because she was a warm body in the same as Robb when he needed one. Had it been anyone else, a whore or a servant girl, there wouldn’t have been a marriage. If only Robb had left well enough alone. Now she had to share Winterfell and her brother and even her mother. There was going to be a stranger in her home and she must call her family.

 

\---

 

Sansa stood beside Robb, watching as he directed what’s left of his army into a traveling formation. The Stark banner flew tall and proud above their heads, making her heart swell. For the first time in a very long time, her mood felt light as a feather.

 _Home,_ she thought.

A long journey was ahead of them, on the Kingsroad by day, and in makeshift camp by night. Three weeks, Robb told her, if they made haste. Sansa had guessed a month, but Robb seemed optimistic, and she wasn’t about to insist on a longer trip.

They stood amongst Robb’s men as they prepared to set off. Sansa tried to look every single one of them in the eyes, because she hadn’t had any familiarity for a very long time. And though she did not know them, they were Northerners, and they knew her.

Some smiled at her, just barely. Some nodded. They saw her and she saw them.

Robb looked to her, smiling too. “You’re certainly making yourself known.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this at home.”

_In a sea of strangers, I belong._

Robb glanced over his shoulder to where Jeyne stood behind him. If Sansa was making herself known, Jeyne was doing the exact opposite. She seemed to fade back into the chaos, blending into the grey plated armor all around. Her chin was down and her hair fell forward like a curtain.

Sansa knew that he was thinking something, but she pretended not to notice and waited for him to broach the subject. She had always looked up to him, and even now, she felt like a child beside him. She dared not bring up his new wife without knowing his own thoughts on her.

 _I had just learned of Bran and Rickon, and something inside me broke. And she was there. And so was I,_ he had told her. His new wife was one mistake over the course of a night, and now she was to be his partner for life.

Robb touched her elbow ever so lightly with the pads of his fingers and then leaned down to her ear. “Father always said that to lead an army, my men must know me.”

Sansa looked up at him, right into the blue of his eyes.

“What’s done is done, and Jeyne is my wife now.” He paused. “But what you’re doing, that’s what father would’ve wanted, and that’s what I need.”

 _That’s what I need._ Sansa bit her lip, thinking of what he was about to ask of her.

“Perhaps you could lead Jeyne. Show her what needs to be done.”

Sansa’s eyes fell back to the mass of Winterfell’s army as she looked away from Robb. She tried to ignore that she had just been tasked with overseeing her brother’s new wife. _You make her your wife and then you make her my responsibility._ The clang of metal and the sharp sound of steel filled her ears. Soldiers mounted all around them, thinning the crowd on foot. Through all the grey and white, through the banners and shields, Sansa saw a hint of red far beyond where she stood with Robb.

Sansa felt her heart jam up into her throat. Her hands fluttered, as she knew what she was about to see even before she saw it.

Melisandre’s crimson gown was blowing all around her, caught in the wind. Her hair seemed to catch every ray of sunlight, bright as can be. A thousand shades of red seemed to radiate from her. She didn’t smile. She was just as cool and even as ever, looking straight ahead at Robb and Sansa.

She turned to Robb, clutching his arm. Panic gripped her by the throat. She could barely bring herself to speak. “Do you see her?”

Robb’s eyes narrowed as he looked through the crowd, past everyone until he reached Melisandre. He took Sansa by the arm, grip tight and protective. “Let’s find your horse.”

He led her away by the hand.

 

\---

 

Their journey was long and wet and tiresome. It seemed to rain more often than not, despite growing colder the further north they traveled. Sansa would’ve been happy to see even a dusting of snow, but the last of the autumn heat was in full effect.

Once, when she was inspecting the edges of her skirts, one of Robb’s older bannermen had approached her with his head bowed in respect.

“Appreciate the warmth and rain while you can, m’lady,” he had said, gesturing to the rim of mud that had collected at the bottom of her gown. “Soon, it’ll be nothing but snow, from what I can tell.”

“Winter is coming,” Sansa agreed.

He nodded. “But for the time being, I know it isn’t easy to have soiled skirts slapping at your feet.”

Sansa smiled at him. “And what’s your name?”

He leaned forward, in an awkward attempt at a bow. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to, but she suspected he would’ve done it anyway. “Arron Flint, m’lady.”

_Let them know you._

That was exactly what she intended to do.

 

\---

 

She had expected the journey home to be the worst of it, Sansa felt worse upon their arrival at Winterfell. An empty feeling formed at the pit of her stomach. She had dreamed of being this close, but standing there, she had never felt so far away.

It truly was a ruin, as Robb had said. She hadn’t pictured it so terribly broken despite her brother’s warnings. Maybe she hadn’t been ready to accept it without seeing it; there was no denying it now.

“I need to walk through what’s left,” Robb began. “I need to see how far gone it is.”

Catelyn looked at her son, but her expression was unreadable. However small Sansa felt before the great pile of ash she once called home, she knew her mother felt even smaller. She had come to Winterfell for her husband, in hopes of building a family, and she had come to love it in a way she couldn’t love Riverrun. She had given birth to five children within the warmth of its walls, and had raised them in the chill of the courtyard. And seeing it now, reduced to a shell by Theon Greyjoy, the boy she had raised beside her own beloved children for years and years, Sansa could only imagine her mother’s hurt was deeper than her own.

“Some of it may be salvageable.” It sounded like a lie. It probably _was_ a lie, she knew.

Robb offered his arm to their mother, giving her first chance at seeing the destruction. It seemed a courtesy, in a way, but Sansa could see her mother’s uneasiness. _It might be kinder to spare her this,_ Sansa thought.

“If I am to begin the reconstruction, I must know where to start.” Robb’s voice is gentle and coaxing.

“I could go.”

When she saw Jeyne’s expression, she thought she might’ve been too bold. Was this her place? What _was_ her place? Where did she belong here, in these ashes? She had once been betrothed to the boy who killed her father, a bastard born of incest. She hadn’t belonged there, as a sister to Robb Stark, with his banners raised against the crown. And then when the Lannisters were dead, Stannis Baratheon might as well have put her in chains. He hadn’t known what was to be done with her, but she didn’t belong anymore than she had before. Even now, away from the capital, Sansa found herself thinking of Melissandre and her red eyes. She could practically feel her firey gaze boring into her.   

She stood beside her brother, in all of his disgraced glory, looking at his wife with her dumbfounded expression. _If only you knew,_ Sansa thought, _what he has asked of me._ As soon as the thought had come to mind, Sansa promised herself that she _would_ teach Jeyne, when the time was right.

But today, she knew, the time was not right.

“Sansa will be of more use to you,” Catelyn said, touching Robb’s offered arm. “Let her go.”

Sansa took his arm, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes on her. At the head of his army, the once king took Sansa’s arm as she lifted her skirts with her free hand. She heard the rustle of the fabric and the slop of her heel as they stepped into the muddy mess of the courtyard. Everything was so still and quiet as they walked toward the castle, sinking into the mud as they went.

“It’s so quiet,” Sansa said under her breath.

“Silence is all they can do to show their respect.”

Walking arm in arm with Robb, Sansa fought the urge to look over her shoulder to see Jeyne’s face. Sansa was in Jeyne’s place, to the right of Robb. He had asked her to help her new sister, and Sansa wanted to. At least, she thought she wanted to. But she was in uncharted territory herself, and if she wanted to help, she must first learn to navigate the waters on her own. She would not reach out to Jeyne while she was still struggling to stay afloat herself. She wouldn’t drag her brother’s wife down with her should she fail.

_To teach you must learn, and I am still learning._

She had wanted to be queen. While she was with Joff, she had dreamed of it. And now a similar opportunity was at her feet, though she would never have a chance at being queen again. She could play at being Lady of Winterfell for now, and then teach the true Lady Stark to do as she did.

They took their steps together, arm in arm, and it was hard not to feel like a queen then. There were so many eyes on their backs, and Sansa was aware of them all. The army and their people and even what was left of their family were waiting on their appraisal with bated breath.

She looked at her brother out of the corner of his eye, wondering what he was thinking. He had returned home a defeated traitor, no longer meant for a crown. He went from King Robb to Lord Robb in no time at all, but he still held all of Winterfell’s responsibilities on his shoulders. He had lost something and nothing at all. He had gained something, too, and she stood behind them, just fading into the crowd.

Their walk through the burnt halls was slow and at times, painful. Sansa tried to look at everything with a critical eye, as Robb did. He was looking to make repairs, inspecting all the damage in hopes of making their childhood home whole again.

When they came to their parents’ room, Sansa’s nails bit into Robb’s arm. She felt her jaw tightening as her throat closed. She could feel tears springing to her eyes, but she swallowed them thickly.

“Look at what can be,” he said into her ear, his breath warm against her clammy skin. His voice was soft and reassuring, but stronger than it had been before she left for King’s Landing. He put his free hand over hers, his heat seeping into her. “See it for what we can restore, and not for what was that was lost.”

She nodded quickly, determined to show that she too could be strong. She could belong. She could find a place here at home, even with Jeyne.

He smoothed his hand down her arm and then laced his fingers with hers. It felt more intimate than before as he led them down another corridor, pulling her along gently by the hand. They went down every hall and into every room. The air still smelled of smoke, and it made Sansa’s head hurt.

Robb was quiet, save for restoration remarks. Sansa wished he would say something. She wished he would say anything, really. She wanted him to lead the way. She felt lost, like she was dangling in the air, grasping at purpose held before her.

 When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she said, “Jeyne is very pretty.”

Robb was running his fingers along a particularly scorched piece of wall. “She is.”

“She seems very quiet.”

Robb nodded, continuing on through the castle. “She feels a little out of place, I think.”

Sansa could understand that.

“She needs guidance. And time.” Robb looked at her over his shoulder. “I feel that you would be a great help to her, though you may not know it.”

“I can certainly sympathize with her position.”

Sansa could imagine Jeyne’s state of mind, having come to a foreign land far from home. Sansa knew what it felt like to be surrounded by strangers with less than friendly faces. Northerners weren’t exactly known for being welcoming to outsiders, but at the very least, Jeyne would not suffer the pain that Sansa had in the capital. The Red Keep had been full of eyes and full of loud mouths. At times, the criticism of those around her felt just as painful as the blows she took during her beatings.

 But Jeyne had taken an honorable man for a husband. She had nothing to fear.

 

\---

 

With the castle a smoking ruin, there was no other choice but to continue making camp. Sansa didn’t mind very much. It was chilly, but the cold had never bothered her much, and with a tent to herself, there was little she could complain about. In time, the castle would be restored, and then everything that had come before wouldn’t matter anymore.

Or so she thought.

The nightmares returned to her very suddenly. She had been plagued by them in the capital, but since her rescue, she had slept peacefully. Most nights, she didn’t even dream at all. Sleep came quickly and morning came gently, until the night terrors came back, and with them, her sleeplessness.

She put off sleep to keep the dreams at bay, but that only seemed to antagonize her demons more. The longer she fought sleep, the harder she seemed to fall into it, and then she was terribly difficult to wake. Most of the time, Catelyn couldn’t rouse her, and then it was left to Robb, who was easily stirred into a panic over it. The whole army could hear her scream, she was certain.

It seemed to give Robb worry lines, and he had more than enough to begin with. He would chew his thumbnail as he stood over her, asking again and again if she truly was fine.

Her answer was always the same. _Yes, I am fine. I’m sorry to have woken you, and even sorrier to have woken Jeyne._

It became a routine, Sansa learned, though she wasn’t even awake for most of it. The screaming would start, and then Catelyn would try to wake her. Usually, she failed, and then it was Robb’s turn. He would climb out of bed and come running to her tent. Jeyne would follow, coming to stand behind her husband as he shook Sansa awake.

And then she would open her eyes, whether it was from the violent shaking or the shouting or the pouring of water over her head. She would open her eyes to the sight of what seemed like a thousand eyes staring back at her. Catelyn’s hand would be covering her mouth, her brow drawn in concern. Robb was most always red in the face, with sweat beading up on his forehead.

And then there would be Jeyne, standing behind all of them with her arms crossed and lips pursed.

Sansa didn’t know what her new sister thought of her. Truly, she didn’t even care.

Sometimes Sansa would leave her tent to sit before the camp’s fire, and then she would catch all the other stares. Their eyes were usually sympathetic, but sometimes, they were frightened. Sansa could hardly blame them. She scared herself sometimes, too.

She dreamed such ugly things. Horrible things. They scared her, but what scared her more was that she was inventing them herself. Her mind’s own creations were tormenting her. How ugly she must be to dream up the sorts of things she did.

It did no good to dwell on it.

 

\---

 

Sansa tried to stay busy during the day. Robb had expectations of her, she knew, and she needed to lead the way for Jeyne. _Teach by example,_ Sansa thought to herself. _Lead the way._ So she dressed in the morning immediately upon rising and left her tent as soon as she could. It was good to be seen, at the very least. Sansa made her loop through the camp every morning with Grey Wind, meeting eyes and matching smiles, nodding and stopping to speak occasionally. 

She made the same loop every day, rain or shine or sprinkling of snow.

The same could not be said for Jeyne. She liked to stay within the walls of her tent, doing whatever it was she did while Robb was attending to business. Sansa had circled around their tent on more than one occasion, trying to figure out just what it was Jeyne did all day. 

Robb had caught her once, managing to creep up behind her without making a sound. “You should invite her on one of your walks,” he suggested.

Sansa jumped at the sound of his voice, turning around to see her brother standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest. Grey Wind went for him, leaving  Sansa standing alone. “I wouldn’t even know what to say,” Sansa confessed softly. “I’m not even sure that she likes me.”

Truthfully, there had hardly been a single word spoken between them since Sansa’s rescue. Her brother’s wife was a quiet girl and Sansa respected that. She didn’t want to push for friendship between them, especially not when she wouldn’t have felt compelled to if it weren’t for Robb’s request. She wasn’t sure that they had anything in common, other than Sansa’s understanding of her position in Winterfell. She had felt the same in King’s Landing, but that was the only comparison to be drawn between their experiences.

Robb was a good man, and nothing like Joffrey.

 “There isn’t a person in this camp who thinks ill of you, Sansa. Jeyne is no exception.”

Sansa wasn’t so sure of that, and it must’ve shown on her face.

“You’re wonderful, and everyone says so. You should hear how they all speak of you. You’re fit to be Lady of Winterfell, my guard says. Dacey Mormont talks especially highly of you.”

Sansa’s morning walks usually ended in the spot where Robb’s personal guard held their morning council meetings. When she first began her morning loops around camp, she couldn’t help but feel a little out of place just wandering about aimlessly. So when she noticed that Dacey Mormont and Jeyne’s brother, Raynald, seemed to be convening in the very same spot each morning, Sansa couldn’t help but think that might be somewhere she belonged.

At first, she joined silently, just walking up to stand at the fringe of the thirty men (and one woman) that were named among Robb’s most trusted battle companions. She did not go unnoticed, and the circle had opened wider for her, like some exclusive invitation she never knew she had wanted until that moment. She spent the first few meetings just listening, and then with time, she came to speak at them. Before she knew it, they were asking _her_ things, looking to her for suggestions and seeking her approval.

“Dacey calls you _Lady Stark_ ,” Robb said with the barest hint of a smile. “You’re become Lady of Winterfell already, just like mother.”

Sansa could feel the blood rising to her cheeks. _Your_ wife _is Lady Stark. I am only your sister. I am only Lady Sansa._

 But it had been her last name first. It had been her name since birth. _She_ was Stark. _She_ belonged. And where did Jeyne fit? _She doesn’t fit anywhere,_ Sansa thought bitterly.

_I must remember my place. I must do right by Robb. I am only his sister._

“Were you planning to make your way to the council meeting?” Robb asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

She could only nod.

“I want to speak with them about my finals plans for reconstruction, before I announce them to the rest of the camp.” Robb offered her his arm. “It would be good for you to be there. I appreciate your input.”

Sansa’s stomach flipped, her heart crawling up her throat. _This is Jeyne’s place, but he is offering it to me._

She took his arm and ignored the nervous knot that had formed in her belly.

 

\---

 

Catelyn Stark was no stranger to styling hair. Sansa could not even begin to guess how much time her mother had spent on Arya’s hair when they were young. She always woke up with tangles in the morning, which Catelyn combed through before she began braiding. Then when the day was done, Arya’s hair had always managed to work itself loose, knotting up all over again. And then Lady Stark would comb it once more before bed, only to start the ritual again in the morning.

It was a never ending cycle, and as a child, Sansa thought it pointless. But now she knew it was a labor of love, and imagined that her mother would give anything to have that tangled hair in her hands again.

All that time spent on Arya’s hair alone, not even counting Sansa’s own hair, had made Catelyn Stark a miracle worker. But Jeyne Westerling needed more than a miracle, it seemed.

Sansa had invited her to her room so that they might dress together, hoping to seem open and friendly. Robb was ready to announce his final plans for reconstruction that afternoon, and he had asked Sansa and Catelyn to dress for the occasion. They would stand alongside him as he spoke to his army as a whole.

And Jeyne would be expected to stand with them, playing her part and looking like it as well.

To direct her, Sansa needed to forge a bond with her.  An invitation into Sansa’s makeshift tent-chamber seemed like a good place to start.

When the voice at her door flap came, it was timid. “Hello?”

“Come in,” Sansa called.

Jeyne slipped in through a crack in the fabric, quiet as ever. She brushed a curl behind her ear, out of her eyes which were trained on the ground. “My lady,” she said quietly, as though she were beneath Sansa.

“Please, call me Sansa.”

“Sansa,” Jeyne said with a nod, just barely looking up. She sounded as though she were trying out her name, unsure of how she would take to it.

“We are family now. You should think of me as a sister.”

Jeyne laughed nervously, the sound filling the tent. She was dressed in fine wool gown with a high collar and a fur wrap over her shoulders. She looked like a northern girl in dress, but her hair…

“Come,” Sansa coaxed. “Let’s fix your hair.”

First, Jeyne let Sansa try. She worked at it for awhile, but it always found a way to free itself from the twisted buns. Then she tried a braid, but for whatever reason, her hair didn’t seem to hold. Some curls sprang upwards, while others refused to wrap around each other. Each time a style unraveled in the Sansa’s fingers, Jeyne’s face grew redder. Sansa couldn’t say if it was embarrassment or frustration.

_A bit of both, perhaps._

So Sansa called for her lady mother, who took to the task without question. She too tried for a bun, and when that failed, she tried for a low, long braid. For all the effort, Jeyne’s curls were still unfamiliar to Catelyn’s hands. The style held, but it looked crooked and strange. Jeyne’s curls were ill suited to the straight laces of a braid, it seemed.

“Perhaps we should leave it down,” Sansa suggested after awhile. Jeyne’s face had only grown redder when Catelyn had come to try her hand at styling. She seemed to shake in her seat as the Stark women worked over her, studying her. Robb’s little wife seemed overwhelmed by emotion, like she was too small for any sort of strong feeling. “We could pull her hair back at the temples.”

Catelyn looked perplexed, but she eventually agreed with Sansa, and that was the end of that. They had done their best.

When Robb saw Jeyne’s hair, his lips twitched in a way that reminded Sansa of the face he had often made before his childhood pranks on Jon were discovered. That particular face usually preceded a laugh. But on this day, Robb didn’t laugh, and for that, Sansa was very thankful. Jeyne’s expression was pinched, the redness still present in her cheeks. Sansa felt sorry for her.

But luckily for Jeyne, she did not know Robb as well as Sansa did, and when she met his eyes, she did not recognize the look on his face. She gave him a small smile and he took her in his arms reassuringly, mumbling something into her ear that eased the tension in her face. Sansa bit the inside of her cheek and looked away, feeling intrusive and out of place.

When Robb looked to Sansa over Jeyne’s head, she gave him a very small shrug. “We tried,” she mouthed to him.

Her hair wouldn’t take to the Northern styles, and she wasn’t taking to the North very well, either. When she did venture from her tent, she was always wrapped twice as tightly in furs as Sansa or Catelyn and still, she hunched forward and hugged her shoulders as though she were frozen to the bone.

“I must speak with Sansa,” she heard her brother say as he pulled away from his wife. She nodded quickly, looking to Sansa for only a moment before turning away from both of them.

He came to stand before her, glancing over his shoulder briefly to be sure that Jeyne wasn’t listening.  “Your effort is obvious, though the outcome was not what we might’ve expected.”

Sansa would’ve laughed if she hadn’t felt so bad. “We did try, Robb. I promise I’m not trying to make a fool of her.”

“I would never think that of you. Regardless, I hardly care for the state of her hair. I want her to feel welcome.” He paused, looking at Sansa. His voice became soft and low. “She looks up to you, though she would never say as much. I know that she could emulate you, the way that she needs to.”

Sansa could see Jeyne in the distance, pacing back and forth and holding her furs tighter and tighter against her. “She seems so cold,” Sansa murmured.

“She is,” Robb admitted regretfully. “She hates how grey it is here. She hates how wet it is, and how cold.”

Sansa had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“She wants to be as you are,” Robb confided softly. He looked over his shoulder again, at Jeyne’s slumped back. “ _However grey the day,_ she told me, _Sansa always catches the light.”_

 

\---

 

 The reconstruction began and with that, so did Robb’s absence. He was gone from morning until nightfall, returning to camp covered in sweat and grime. Sansa could smell him from across the table when they took their dinner together, as a family. Catelyn smiled when his damp curls fell forward into his eyes, giving him the look of a boy again. It made Sansa’s stomach hurt.

He was always quiet after a day of work, no doubt exhausted and aching. He would leave their mother’s tent after he had finished eating, Jeyne following behind him dutifully. Sansa had always thought he went straight to bed, until she caught him sitting outside her own tent by the fire. He was still quiet and contemplative, so Sansa made no move to disturb him. She slipped back to her own tent, expecting to lay awake for awhile before surrendering to sleep and therefore, her terrible dreams.

But sleep eluded her that night, and several hours later, when she finally gave up trying to get any sort of rest, she rose from her bed and made her way to sit in the fading light of that same fire. She had expected to find the fire deserted, thinking Robb must’ve made his way to bed hours ago, but when she found him sitting there still, her stomach lurched.

“It’s awfully late.”

Robb jumped at the sound of her voice, turning around to see her standing behind him in her nightgown. She gripped her shoulders, hugging herself protectively as he blinked tired eyes at her. Sansa thought he might’ve looked her up and down but she couldn’t be sure, as his eyes were hardly open.

“I thought you might have nightmares.” His voice was like gravel, groggy with fatigue. He looked very small sitting there on the ground. It was a strange sight.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He made a sound of understanding, dragging a hand down his face. His beard had grown thick and unruly, giving him the look of a much older man.

“You should sleep, Robb.”

“So should you,” he countered.

“You should wash yourself, at least,” Sansa quipped.

He laughed, stretching an arm out before him to look at the streaks of dirt that still covered his skin. “Probably should, yes.”

“Jeyne would be grateful for that, I would think.”

Robb laughed again, a little drier this time. “Jeyne would be grateful if I went to bed at all, I think.”

Sansa’s stomach dropped. She had felt like her belly had been in knots for days. The feeling never seemed to truly leave her, it only settled for awhile before returning with a new ferocity. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, I have to think it’s because of the stress you’re under. With the reconstruction and everything that comes with it.”

“That could be it, I suppose.”

Sansa thought there was something just beneath his words, some greater implication, but she wasn’t sure. “I’ve found that when you’re tired enough, exhaustion always wins. Sleep will come.”

“I’ve slept some,” he told her quietly. “Out here, I mean.”

Sansa was looking at him, trying to read his expression. _Why are you here, outside my tent?_ She couldn’t ask. The words wouldn’t come. _Is it because of me? Because of my dreams?_ “You would sleep better in your tent. A bed will treat you far better than the ground will.”

“My bed shared with Jeyne, who is full of expectation and met only with disappointment?”

 _That one, yes._ “She misses you all day long, I’m sure, and is overwhelmed with happiness when you return to her.”

Robb hummed a sound of what might have been agreement.

“Things will improve when the reconstruction gets further along,” Sansa insisted.

 “That may be awhile,” he told her. Sansa had not been given an estimation on the length of the reconstruction, but she did know that it had been slow going. The shell of Winterfell had only recently taken a better shape. It looked a bit better, though it was far from the same. “In the mean time, what would you have me do?”

“Try.” _Try harder,_ was what she meant.

“The same advice I would give to myself. You’re the voice within me, Sansa, speaking reason when I’m deaf to it.”

 

\---

 

While Sansa did not want to make a habit of spying on her brother, she could not help but take notice of him. He was everywhere, all through the day, doing anything and everything that was asked of him. He was in and out of the castle and in and out of his tent. He made trips around the camp to keep an eye on things. Even with most of his time occupied, on more than one occasion, Sansa had seen him with Jeyne.

How he had time for it all, she did not know, but his extra attention was being funneled straight to Jeyne, sparing no additional time anywhere else.

 _Perhaps he is trying harder because of what I said the other night._ The thought both pleased and irritated Sansa. She wanted to give him good council, and she liked that he had asked her for her advice in the first place, but she did not like to see her brother with anyone else.

She didn’t like to think about why that was.

 _I_ _see you, Sansa Stark. And I see your brother._

Jeyne always looked happy to see Robb, though she usually looked surprised. Sansa did not pretend to know what went on behind closed doors, or tent walls, as it were, but Jeyne never seemed to expect Robb or his affections, however pleased she was when she received them.

_Maybe he is cold to her. Maybe their bed is not as warm as she would like._

War changed men, Sansa knew. War could make the hardest man soft, as she had seen in The Hound. Maybe it could make the warmest men cold.

Sansa had watched them for too long once, long enough to see Robb put his lips to Jeyne’s ear, which made her giggle. Though Sansa’s gaze felt invasive, she could not bring herself to look away. Jeyne pulled away with a coy look in her eye, turning on her heel and walking away with a bounce in her step.

Even then, Robb’s gaze followed her. Sansa recognized the look in his eyes. The Hound had looked at her that way, with want. He might’ve been the only man that did, or ever would.

 But it hadn’t been the same.

 

\---

 

Robb had been rising earlier than ever, and staying out later, which meant Sansa and Catelyn usually broke their fast alone, and sometimes only had Jeyne for company at dinner. Lady Jeyne rarely woke early enough to take her morning meal with them, and if she did, she ate alone.

Sansa wanted to like her, but she was making it very difficult.

“Robb is hardly sleeping,” Sansa began.  “It isn’t sustainable, working as much as he is and sleeping so little.”

Catelyn gave a somber nod. “I have expressed my concern, but he won’t hear it.  He is single minded toward his purpose. He thinks only of Winterfell.”

Winterfell’s destruction seemed to be driving Robb to his own. His desire to restore their home to its former glory was pushing him to the edge, and his need to re-establish his family’s sense of normalcy was pushing him over. His guilt was the driving force in his life these days, Sansa knew, motivating him to go above and beyond his own personal limits to the point of insanity.

“Have you spoken with Jeyne about it?”

“No,” Catelyn admitted softly. “But I was hoping that you might.”

Sansa felt something growing in her chest. Defiance, maybe. _I don’t want to._ It wasn’t fair for Robb to have asked so much of her when she could hardly manage herself, and it was even worse now that her mother was urging her towards Jeyne in a similar fashion.

_I could reason with him, as I did before. He might listen._

Sansa wanted to whine. She wanted to plead her case to Lady Stark, so that she might see why she wanted nothing to do with her good-sister. But she wasn’t a child any longer, and there was no innocence left to her, so she kept her tone polite and her voice calm. “She does not like me, mother.”

“Sansa,” her mother began in an even tone. “She envies you.”

_It is not my place to speak with him. It is a wife’s place._

 

\---

 

_I don’t want to._

Responsibility was a never ending chore. She did not want to, but she must.

_I must._

That was the thought that pushed Sansa into Jeyne’s tent.

Her good-sister looked startled at the sight of her, and seemed even more taken aback when she opened her mouth to speak with her. _It is my fault that she is so frightened of me. She is timid because I have given up on her, leaving her to the silence she seems to enjoy so much. There is no love between us._

“I wish to speak with you about my brother.”

Jeyne only blinked at her. She was sitting before her mirror, combing through her own hair. She held Sansa’s gaze for only a moment before looking back at he own reflection.

“About your husband,” Sansa corrected, wanting nothing more than to kick herself.

“I won’t be any help to you. You know him far better than I.” Jeyne only looked at herself, treating Sansa’s image as though she wasn’t there and yet speaking to her anyway.

_Is this what it means to be a woman grown? To know the difference between wants and needs? To know that I do not want to and that I must do it all the same?_

“All I ask of you is that you might speak with him…”

Jeyne’s long, slow brush strokes were the only response.

“…regarding Robb’s sleep habits and his enthusiasm about the restoration.”

_Is this what it means to be the Lady of Winterfell? To act in the best interests of my family, and of my people, knowing full well that this is not what I want?_

“He has been spending more time with you than ever before,” Sansa said by way of explanation. “You certainly see more of him than anyone else, as it stands. You might be able to reason with him.”

Jeyne looked at Sansa then, though she said nothing.

“He only needs to be reminded of his own well being.”

There was another slow pass of the comb through the length of Jeyne’s hair.

“You are his wife, after all.” It was not a gentle reminder.

Jeyne set the comb aside then, looking down at her hands with the shamed look of a scolded child. “I’m not sure that means all that much to him.”

“Do not speak ill of him.”

“I’m only stating facts,” Jeyne said, voice rising defensively.

 _Act the lady that Robb believes you to be. Act the lady that you are._ She thought better than to carry on with that particular conversation, especially when there were greater matters at hand. “You might mention that he is of more use to us all when he is well rested and thinking clearly, rather than slouching with fatigue.”

“With all due respect, Lady Stark-”

“ _Sansa.”_

Jeyne bit her lip, expression twisting almost imperceptibly. “With all due respect, Sansa, I think you are better suited to this conversation, as you need no direction in speaking and seem to have the conversation quite mapped out as it is.”

Sansa’s fists had tightened in the fabric of her skirt, balling her dress up in her sweaty palms without even having noticed.

“Besides, you have reasoned with him before, I think. You have spoken with him regarding important matters, and directed his course of action.”

Though Jeyne’s words were very simple, Sansa detected something just beneath the surface. She could hear some greater implication.

“You are right when you say that he is spending more time with me than ever. It is seemingly out of nowhere, and I have questioned where this change of heart has come from.”

She turned away from the mirror then, to face Sansa and look her directly in the eyes. Jeyne was a slight girl with a small presence, but in that moment, with her eyes darker than they had been before, Sansa felt as though Jeyne were more than twice her size.

“I am grateful for your help. Marriage is not easy, as I am coming to learn. Your family has suffered more _than most and I have come in at a very bad time, I think.”_

Sansa could only stand there, scared to even blink but playing at calm. She could see herself over Jeyne’s shoulder in the mirror, looking less than fierce and more than frightened.

“Since you have done me a kindness, I will speak with Robb,” she said as she turned in her seat, back towards her own reflection. “We will be even then.”

Sansa began to turn on her heel then, thinking their conversation done. But as she went for the door, Jeyne called out to her again, and Sansa stopped in her tracks only long enough for Jeyne to speak to Sansa’s backside with her head half-heartedly turned toward her shoulder to listen.

“I mean what I’ve said, Sansa. I am very grateful for what you’ve done. I only wish that it hadn’t taken your suggestion in the first place.”

 

\---

 

It was two weeks before Sansa summoned the courage to ask Catelyn about the state of things. She had scarcely seen Robb and couldn’t speak to whether his appearance had improved at all.

Catelyn looked surprised by the question, and then she looked uncomfortable when she went about answering it. “Jeyne usually retires to their tent alone.”

Sansa wished she hadn’t asked at all.

 

\---

 

She woke to Robb shaking her, his fingers digging into the flesh of her upper arms. He was sitting beside her on her bed, leaning over her with a look of brotherly concern. She looked about her tent for Catelyn or Jeyne, and when she saw that there was only Grey Wind, she could only stare at Robb, waiting for him to say something.

“You’re only dreaming,” he said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. She had seen the calluses on his hands, and she wondered how he managed to feel so smooth against her skin. “It was only a nightmare.”

“Where is mother?” Sansa swallowed the unspoken sob sitting in her throat. She couldn’t even remember what she had been dreaming of. “Jeyne?”

“Sleeping, I’m sure.”

“Mother always comes first.”

“Not when I’m right outside.”

Sansa’s stomach turned oily, a ghostly monster of guilt unfurling like a smoke plume inside of her. _Am I the reason you’re not in bed with Jeyne? Is your sister keeping you from your wife?_ She felt stiff lying there in bed with her jaw clenched. She was scared to open her mouth, or even breathe, for fear of what she might say. Even if she could keep her mouth shut, she worried about her expression and what Robb might find there. “You needn’t wait outside my door.”

“Why shouldn’t I, when we can spare mother and Jeyne our troubles this way?”

 _Our troubles._ “They are mine and mine alone.”

“You would have no nightmare fodder if not for me.”

The lions of Lannister had taken Sansa in their jaws immediately upon her arrival in King’s Landing, gnawing at her long enough to give her permanent scars. But lately, Sansa dreamt only of Melisandre. Her dreams were red and scarlet and crimson. The red woman was haunting her from hundreds of miles away. There was no escape, even in Winterfell.

“I would not have you suffer this alone,” Robb said gently, laying a hand on Sansa’s stomach. It was meant to be comforting but Sansa felt as though she might vomit.

“I would not have you sleeping in the dirt, away from your wife.”

“I’ll leave you, if you like, but I won’t go to Jeyne.”

Sansa would not acknowledge it, but a part of her was glad for that. “Why not?”

“Because I cannot take another moment of her asking me to stay in bed with her, or to take a day’s rest from the reconstruction.”

Though she had very little love for Jeyne, she would not have Robb hating his own wife for something Sansa had asked her to do. “That was me, Robb. I told her to ask those things of you.”

“Yes, I know that’s how it started, but it became more than that.”

Sansa could not pretend to know what he meant.

“She did not take my refusal lightly. But it isn’t a lack of love for her that keeps me away from her, working on that damned ruin as though there might be hope to see it as it once was.”

“Not a lack of love,” Sansa agreed. “Only an abundance of guilt.”

“No,” Robb insisted, fingers digging into the flesh of Sansa’s stomach almost painfully. “That isn’t it either.”

Sansa took his hand and pushed it back towards him, a gentle reminder of _his_ place and where _he_ belonged. If had to be so conscious of her own actions, she expected the same of him. “I don’t like feeling that I am personally responsible for the current state of your marriage.”

“It isn’t you, Sansa. It isn’t. She resents me for not having gone to her of my own volition over these past few weeks. She knows that you pushed me to it.”

“I never confirmed her suspicions when she asked me about it.”

“You didn’t need to. She knew it for herself. She had suspected all along.” Robb paused, rubbing at his eyes. Fatigue was written all over his face, settling itself into lines on his skin. “This was all too much for her, I think. She can’t stand knowing it took _you_ to bring me back to her.”

 _I should’ve spoken to Robb myself. I never should’ve asked her to try to talk sense into him. But it wasn’t my place. It was_ never _my place._ Sansa’s whole body burned, as though something were splitting her right down the middle. She was being torn in half, by her wants and her duties and her sense of what s _hould_ and shouldn’t be done. _But he only listens to me._ Though by asking Jeyne to do what Sansa should’ve done, she had only inserted herself more into their marriage.

_She probably feels as though I have orchestrated this whole conflict._

 

\---

 

Sansa had tried to ignore him outside her tent every night. It certainly wouldn’t do any good to encourage his habit of hiding from his wife. She felt as though she had been pulled into it all the same, with the way he explaining his absence from his wife.

“Sansa has terrible night terrors,” she heard him explaining once. “I can’t let them continue on like this any longer.”

_Robb Stark, former King in the North, doting brother, dutiful husband. Apparently, however, the latter falls by the wayside in favor of his sister._

When she couldn’t ignore him any longer, and when her guilt was making it more difficult to sleep than her nightmares, she stepped outside her tent to ask if he might begin returning from his labor early enough to eat his dinner with them.

Much to her relief, he had agreed.

_It is a start._

All was well, up until his last bite. He rose then, turning towards the door.

Jeyne’s voice broke the silence, startling Sansa and even her mother. Robb’s mouse of a wife wasn’t known for her conversation, and Sansa guessed she hadn’t heard Jeyne speak in well over a week. But she was speaking now, and from her tone, Sansa knew she would be heard.

“Come to bed.”

Robb stopped dead in his tracks, though he did not turn to look at her.

Catelyn Stark dropped her fork, which clattered loudly against the wood of the table.

“Robb, please. Come to bed.”

“I’m very tired,” Catelyn announced abruptly, standing from her chair and straightening her skirts while she was still chewing a bite of her food. She looked to Sansa, expression very serious. “Sansa, will you see me to my tent?”

“No!” Jeyne barked, eyes flickering between Catelyn and Sansa. “You will stay, and you will watch him deny me, so you will know I am not _frigid._ ”

“Lady Jeyne-” Robb began. Grey Wind rose then, eyeing Jeyne warily.

“No! I will not hear your excuses. Tell it true. You would rather coddle your sister than couple with your wife. I am second.” Jeyne paused to swallow. Sansa could see the tears welling in her eyes. “I am only an afterthought.”

Robb turned to face her in a very slow deliberate motion. He looked to be collecting his thoughts, folding his hands together all too tightly. “Jeyne, the suffering that we _all_ have experienced is more than you are likely to have even a taste of in your entire life. You cannot begin to understand this family, and I will not have my actions questioned by you or by _anyone_ else.”

“She cannot relive every moment with the Lannisters! She cannot let it define the remainder of her life! _You_ cannot let it define our _marriage!_ I will not be married to your guilt.”

Sansa felt frozen in place. It would’ve been better that she wasn’t there at all, because Jeyne was speaking about her as though she was not. _I dream only of Melisandre._

“Do you even hear me?” Jeyne cried.

Grey Wind lowered his head, lips pulling back into a white toothed snarl. He let out a low growl, eyes narrowed at her.

“Grey Wind!” Sansa shouted.

The wolf glanced at Sansa before giving Jeyne one more cautionary look, still skeptical. All the same, he pulled back and went to Sansa, dropping down at her feet.

“Even the wolf prefers her,” Jeyne sighed in exasperation.

“I need fresh air,” Robb said through clenched teeth.

It was only after he had fled the tent, leaving them standing there in stunned silence, that Sansa had the courage to say, “As do I.”

And though it was not a sister’s place, she followed him out with Grey Wind loping after her.

He led her in a loop about the edge of the camp, right along the fringe of the tents. He made no excuses for Jeyne, walking a step ahead of Sansa so that she could not see his face. His voice was low and his fists were clenched, swinging a bit too fiercely through the cold air.

“I know you have tried to help her,” he said. “I know now that she is a lost cause.”

Sansa was not as sure. _Did I do enough? Should I have tried harder?_

“I am sorry for the things she said, and sorrier that you had to hear them.” Without letting Sansa see his face, he gestured quickly to Grey Wind who jumped to follow at his heels. “If you’ll excuse me, Sansa.”

And he left her standing there.

 

\---

 

_Maybe it was my own feelings that got in Jeyne’s way. I might’ve sabotaged her to have Robb all to myself._

The thought kept Sansa up all night every night in the week that followed Jeyne’s outburst. Sansa began to wonder if Jeyne had truly been her own downfall. Had her good-sister been sour from the start? Had Sansa set her back without even noticing?

_I could have done more. I could have tried harder. I could have._

Sansa came to know guilt the way she suspected that Robb did. It chewed at her, making it harder and harder to sleep. Even more troublesome was the knowledge that Robb was outside her tent, playing the concerned brother when in reality he was hiding from his sour wife.

_I will not be the reason he stays away from her. I will not be the reason for their failed marriage._

“Robb,” she called to him at last. From where she stood within her tent, her brother looked like a very sorry sight. He was dirty and disheveled, lying before a fire like some common foot soldier. This same man had led an army once, and still did, though you wouldn’t have known it by the state of things. The only hint of his greatness was the massive wolf beside him, sleeping.

 _Pathetic,_ Sansa thought. _For what he had been._

“Robb,” she tried again. She was scared of calling out to him too loudly, and even more scared at the thought of going outside to shake him. If Jeyne slipped up again, there would be more suspicious eyes on Robb. And on Sansa.

He woke to that, sitting up lazily and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Go to your wife.”

He practically growled at her in response, putting both hands on his face as though he might claw it off. He rubbed it furiously in frustration before pulling away and looking at her with a much softer expression than she anticipated. “I want to be here.”

“You want to be here,” Sansa echoed sardonically. “You want to sleep on the ground. You want to lie in the dirt. You want to freeze to death when winter comes.”

“Why must you play games with me?”

“Because you must realize how foolish you’re acting. These are children’s games. You are hiding from your wife and I am your excuse.”

“I am not _hiding_ form Jeyne,” he insisted. “I am here for you, and I don’t know that I can make it any plainer to you. I couldn’t be there when you needed me, when you were with the Lannisters. But I can be here now. Whenever it is and however it is that you need me.”

“I don’t want you here!” she shouted. She had crept closer to him with every word, now situated just outside very entrance of her tent. _I must keep my voice low or I’ll cause a scene that will rival Jeyne’s._ ”Your guilt is like an anchor, keeping you in place as you drag us both beneath the water.”

“How can I make you understand that I would not go to her, no matter the circumstances?”

She could not think of a response. Perhaps nothing would ever convince her that he was acting out of affection rather than obligation.

And what did it matter, really? Shouldn’t he have felt guilty? Hadn’t he done wrong by her? Hadn’t her left her to the Lannisters? Hadn’t her married another woman while the red witch tormented her? Had he thought of her at all?

Maybe he did owe her something. Maybe he owed her this. _Maybe even more._

“Come to bed.”

They were Jeyne’s words but it was Sansa saying them now. By the look on Robb’s face, that made all the difference. It felt strange to use them, maybe because they required a boldness that did not belong to her. So she repeated herself.

And she did not have to say it a third time.  

He rose unsteadily, legs shaking from either fatigue or anxiety. Grey Wind stood with him, eyeing the two of them. He followed Robb to the tent door, where he ordered his direwolf to stay.

“Watch out for us,” he told him.

Sansa’s stomach flipped as he followed her inside, letting the flap fall closed behind them.

Her boldness had melted away, she realized. She could only stand there staring at him, wondering where they were to go from here.

“I might lay with you,” Robb suggested. “To help with the nightmares.”

It sounded innocent, but she knew it was far from it. All the same, she was grateful for him giving her the words she couldn’t find, and for giving them both a start for what they were about to do.

She led him to bed, thinking it was better that she take _some_ initiative if she could not maintain the boldness she had had before. _What is there to be shy about? Think of what you’re about to do. You are beyond shame now._

But she felt less than bold as she crawled into bed beside him, facing him as fearlessly as she could. He only looked at her, blinking slowly.

He was a mess, truly. His face was streaked with dirt, his auburn curls matted to his head with sweat that had long since dried. He smelled foul and was in desperate need of a proper bath, but she didn’t care at all. She reached out to touch his face with just the tips of her fingers. He felt gritty, as though all the dust and dirt of the day had become a part of him, rather than just settling on his skin.

_Are you a good girl, Sansa?_

“You need a bath,” she told him. “And sleep.”

“Not yet.”

She could only delay it. Even with distraction between them, they were on a collision course for each other. _No one understands what we have been through, except for us._

He kissed her then, capturing her by the lip with his teeth and then laving over it with his tongue. It was a startling but welcome advance, and Sansa opened her mouth so that he might find every way that he could to make use of his tongue.

_Is this what Jeyne is missing?_

The tenderness with which Robb touched her face made Sansa soft and pliable beneath his hands. With his palms cupping her face, he kissed her lips, her nose, her eyelids. She thought of Jeyne, lying awake in bed while her husband kissed his sister. _How did we get here?_

But she could not think of Jeyne when Robb slid his hands down, away from her face, to the curve of her neck and then the sharp of her collarbone . She ceased to exist then, when Robb took hold of her breasts, lifting them upwards until they curved into a high swell, perfect for meeting his lips. There was nothing but the warmth of Robb’s mouth and the wet of his tongue. She gasped at the sharpness of his teeth, nipping at her nipples as though he were really a wolf.

He was filthy, covered in grime that left dark streaks on the cream of her skin where he laid his hands, but she hardly cared. They were past filthy, closer to damned, and the black tracks from the path of his hands were the least of their concern.

When he reached between her thighs and his finger tip found the knot of nerves there, Sansa could’ve wept. The slick sound of his finger running between her lips was the only sound in the thick air of the tent. It smelled of sweat and dirt and skin, the both of them damp with perspiration from the thrill.

When Sansa was close, insides trembling in massive quakes that left her feeling as though she were splitting down the middle, Robb positioned himself at her core and pushed in. She cried out then, having given up on her vow of silence in favor of savoring the pleasure. She felt the pressure of him everywhere, as full as though she might overflow. Every stroke echoed in her body, toes curling at the feeling. His fingers found a more certain purpose, giving way for Sansa’s climax.

She held onto him as he rocked towards her and then away. He felt greasy beneath her palms, like he was staining her with a sin she would never quite be able to escape.

That was fine, she decided, when he choked her name and fell in a sated heap on top of her.

“I was trying to turn her into you,” Robb said after a long while. “When it was you that I needed all along.”

 

\---

 

“The reconstruction is far enough along that we might return to the castle in a few days,” her mother mentioned as they broke their fast. “Robb mentioned it this morning.”

Sansa nodded as though she hadn’t heard. Robb had told her three nights ago as he lay beside her in bed, tracing patterns on her bare skin.

“There’s still much to be done, but I’ll be relieved to be truly out of the elements, away from the snow when it comes.”

“These final stages might surprise you, mother. The more that is accomplished, the quicker other tasks seem to come along.”

Catelyn hummed a sound of agreement as she set aside her fork and knife, moving her hands to her lap. She smiled at Sansa, and for a reason she could not say, it unsettled her. “Robb seems to be sleeping more restfully, by the look of him. And by the rate of progress as of late.”

Sansa swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet her mother’s eyes across the table. “He must be,” she made herself say.

“The same cannot be said for Jeyne.”

 

\---

 

Robb moved from pressing kisses on each rib to running his tongue along the flat of her stomach. Sansa looked down on him eagerly, watching as he blew long steady breaths along the curve of her hip.

He roamed over Sansa every time like she was new, uncharted territory he had never seen before. She could only guess that he was surprised at the sight of her each time, trying to unlearn the childlike memories of her and replace them with these of a woman grown, shapely and welcoming in a way that his little sister had not been.

As he moved over her leg, towards the inside of her thigh, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Sansa. So, so sorry.”

She took him by his auburn hair at the sound of that, bringing his mouth to her to shut him up.

_I will not be taken to bed as a way to absolve your guilt._

 

\---

 

The day that they returned to their home, or what had been _rebuilt_ into the memory of their home, Sansa slept alone.

Sansa had urged him half a hundred time to _please, go to Jeyne._ He had refused her each time until that night, when he had finally had enough of her pleading. She liked it no more than he did, watching him head to his marital bed with a scowl. He had to return to sleeping with his wife each night, once he was through with fucking Sansa.

After the conversation over breakfast with her mother, Sansa had grown paranoid, and she knew that Robb’s absence from his own chamber would be far more noticeable within the walls of the castle.

She woke to a rustling, wondering if it was truly there or in her head, as most of her fears were. But when it came again, she sat up, scanning the darkness of her room with careful eyes. The pitch blackness before her gave her a sense of claustrophobia, knowing she was all alone in the tightness of her own room.

She eyed her open door, seeing just a shred of light from the torches in the hall.

_Go back to sleep. You’re only dreaming. It is hard to be back here, with all the lovely memories that have taken more of a taste of sadness since losing everyone._

But her fear was not so easily silenced, and just as she went to stand, hands took hold of her by the shoulders and forced her backwards, pressing her back to the bed. Bodyweight came down on her, hard, and she was certain the hands must be a man’s.

She screamed then, as loudly as she could. She screamed for Robb and then for Grey Wind, and whoever else it was that might hear her. It was only the first night back and everyone was a bit out of place, with only half as many occupants as they had once had in Winterfell. So she screamed louder and louder, until one hand clamped down around her mouth and the other could be heard fishing about in clothing for something.

_I see darkness ahead for you._

 Sansa writhed beneath him, trying to bring her legs up in the meager space between them to kick at him. If only she could slip away from him, she was certain that her fear would push her legs fast enough to run to safety.

But when what he had what he sought after firmly in his palm, Sansa knew there was no time. When the rustling of his pockets had stopped, she heard only shallow breathing, and with all the strength she had, brought her knee up between the man’s legs.

_Are you a good girl, Sansa?_

When he staggered backwards and away, she screamed again, jumping up and for the door. But the hand that caught her by the neck pulled her back to him, just long enough for him to blindly stab at her in the dark. The knife sliced her across the forearm and then the point drove into the fleshy skin at the edge of her waist. It took her breath away when he pulled the blade back, and then she reached for it instinctively, gripping it hard enough to bite into her palm and draw blood.

_Will you stay that way?_

It was then that she heard feet, almost galloping towards her, and she knew it was Grey Wind. The snarling snap of his teeth came louder as he bolted through her door, ripping into the man with all the ferocity he had.

The surprise took him backwards, loosening his grip and leaving Sansa with the knife by the blade. She hardly had to think when she turned the knife around in her bloody hand, pointing it at the screaming man and stabbing blindly.

Robb came through the door just as she dropped it, clattering to the floor with a metallic clang. His torch shone light on Grey Wind as he dropped the man at last, bleeding from more wounds than either of them could count.

The sound of Grey Wind’s jaw snapping was loud and wet, a mouthful of blood bouncing about between his jaws.

“He had me by the neck,” Sansa told her brother finally. “But he was stabbing at my stomach.”

 

\---

 

In the weeks that followed, Robb had reason enough to stay alone with Sansa in her room, so he did. Everyone within Winterfell had heard the story of Sansa’s bravery. _There might be songs about me one day,_ she thought. The thought would have delighted her once, but now she couldn’t bring herself to care.

 When Robb could not be at her side, he left Grey Wind to her, who had taken a particular interest in her safety after the incident even without Robb’s command.

 The rumor mill turned out nothing, understanding that if Lord Stark’s sister was in danger, he meant to keep her safe. There was nothing wrong with a brother protecting a sister.

Jeyne, however, had plenty to say about it. Sansa had heard her shouting at Robb from within their room, about how they were truly finished. “You would hardly leave her when she only had nightmares, and after this, I know you’ll never leave her side at all.”

 _If enough time passed, perhaps no one would take notice if he never went back to her. He could stay with me for the rest of his days._ No one had anything to say about his absence from Jeyne’s bed yet.

There was plenty of talk, though, specifically of Sansa.

“The wolf that walks beside her is nearly as tall as she is,” Sansa heard someone remark in passing. “And he is only half as fierce.”

 

\---

 

Sansa avoided Jeyne when she could. She was not without guilt for what she had taken from the girl who she was supposed to be treating like a sister.

When she did see her, Jeyne rarely acknowledged her, and when she did, there was nothing but bitterness from Jeyne’s mouth.

“Good morning, Lady Stark,” Jeyne said once as she passed by Sansa in the hall.

This time, Sansa did not correct her.

 

\---

 

Though Sansa’s own mother still made her nervous, she continued to break her fast with her all the same. Robb always ate with Jeyne, curiously enough. _It might be the only way he is comfortable pretending to be a husband,_ Sansa thought.

One morning, when Sansa saw her mother setting aside her silverware yet again, her heart leapt straight into her throat. She could only imagine what her mother was going to want to discuss, or what she might have seen. They were trying to be subtle, but sometimes passion overtook the both of them.

“I want to tell you something, Sansa, and I want you to hear it and understand me very clearly.”

Sansa gave a single nod.

Lady Catelyn let out a single long breath, folding her hands very carefully in her lap. “We have all suffered something terrible. You and Robb and I know pain better than most.” There was a long stretch before she spoke again. “I cannot pretend to know how you both might cope with that.”

_I am done for._

“But I want you both to know…” Her voice sounded very high and very small, as though she were speaking around something. “That I wish happiness for both of you, however you might find it.”

Sansa gave her mother a very small smile.

 

\---

 

By the time Sansa realized that she was, she wasn’t anymore. The life that had been was gone in a rush of blood that streaked down her thighs and two full days and nights of cramping. Robb wept, but Sansa was too terrified for tears.

_The assassin had only stabbed at my belly._

The very next day, Sansa visited the maester about moon tea.

 

\---

 

Once she surmised that Melisandre had known of the life growing inside her, even before Sansa herself had known, she could not sleep. _I see you, Sansa Stark. And I see your brother._ She urged her brother back into bed with his wife and with the turn of two moons, Jeyne announced her pregnancy.

Sansa had forced herself to smile and to congratulate Jeyne. She tried to think only of Jeyne’s new gift, and not the gift that Sansa had lost.

“It is still early,” Jeyne confided in her one day. She had come to Sansa’s room in the early afternoon, inviting her to her chamber, much to Sansa’s surprise. “But I think it is a boy. I pray that it is true.”

Jeyne seemed to be truly trying, finally. The baby seemed to have given her purpose. She was trying to belong, and even sometimes she tried to be family. She asked Catelyn questions about motherhood and pregnancy, and she even asked for Sansa’s thoughts on children’s names. In another life, maybe they all could have worked together. But Sansa knew that in this one, there was still much to overcome.

 _I can let her have this happiness,_ Sansa told herself. _It is almost all that she has._

And after all, it was not a sister’s place.

But Robb could not give up on his sister completely. He came to her as often as he could, and each time he reminded her that she did not have to be so strict about her moon tea. She called him greedy, teasing him for wanting to children by two different women.

“A wife isn’t enough for Robb Stark,” Sansa whispered in between kisses, when Robb spoke of their hypothetical auburn haired sons and daughters. “He wants a baby by his sister too.”

And though she was only making lighthearted japes with Robb, she was crying on her own once he left her.

 

\---

 

Jeyne had never taken to politics like Robb had hoped, and Sansa had give up on thinking that she ever would. Between their mother and Sansa herself, there was enough familial contribution to the council meetings anyway.

No one seemed to miss Jeyne.

Sansa came to learn that not everything was as settled in the capital as she had thought it to be. It had certainly been tumultuous while she had been a captive, but since returning home, she had figured that it would all fall into order eventually.

That was not the case.

She had thought Stannis and the red witch to be absolute, but with each council meeting that passed, Sansa began to regard their hold on the Iron Throne as only temporary.

 

\---

 

Robb told her it was a shadow, and strangely, she believed him. His eyes were wide when he recounted Jeyne’s stabbing, his voice choked when he mentions that she fell straight forward onto her swollen belly after.

Sansa tried to soothe him by running her fingers through his hair, as their mother had done when he was very small.

The common folk blamed another rogue assassin, but Sansa knew better.

Sansa vomited when Robb told her that the shadow looked just like her. Melisandre was the purest form of evil that either of them had ever known, and she was crafty in her abilities. _How cruel to do this to Robb, and then to try and pin it on me._

Sansa vomited again the following morning.

 

\---

 

_I see darkness ahead for you._

The red witch’s reach was far and wide, and Sansa was determined to act in the interest of safety.

The golden Stark children had played with fire far too many times now, and Sansa was tired of tempting fate. The maester would have to understand, she thought. She could make him understand. He needed to see that there was so much at risk, and no one was safe. There had to be something that he could do to save everyone that she loved.

She promised herself she would allow two weeks to construct a convincing argument for terminating the pregnancy. She would memorize it a thousand times over and then repeat it for the maester, hoping desperately that it would not fall on deaf ears.

 

\---

 

When word of the dragon queen came, Sansa could not believe it. Robb thought it was too fantastical, too unbelievable.

It took a familiar face all dressed in black, back from the Wall, to make them believe.

He departed from Winterfell the next day, with a request from Robb for their new queen.

 

\---

 

Their cousin, Jon Targaryen, sent a gift.

The box was large and ornate, a beautiful polished wood surface that reflected Sansa’s own image as Robb sat it before her on the table. There were beautiful, silver dragon emblems all over the box, reflecting in an array of rainbow colors when the light caught them properly. They were alone in her bedroom, with Robb standing beside her, patiently waiting.

“I asked for this, but I did it for both of us.”

Sansa’s heart beats like a war drum.

“Open it,” he urges.

She could only imagine. There had been so much already. Jon had been released from his Night’s Watch service to serve the new queen, Daenerys Targaryen, who was also his aunt. He had never been their half brother, but their cousin all along, and Catelyn had hated him for an affair that their father had never had.

It felt like so much of their family had been built on lies, but it was a relief all the same. Catelyn had cried for nearly a fortnight upon the reveal, and when she finally emerged from her room without tear tracks down her cheeks, she had told Sansa that she should never have been as horrible to Jon as she was, regardless of who his father was.

Sansa could hardly picture the boy she had known as Jon Snow as royalty, sitting beside the dragon queen, named to be her heir. He had always been a quiet, timid boy before Sansa, but when he had come to them last, he was a man grown, the way Robb had been when she saw him upon her rescue. With everything that had happened, Sansa could not even think of what Jon might’ve sent.

A shiver ran through her.

Robb handed her a key, which she put into the box’s lock, and turned carefully. The lock released with a soft _click._ Sansa took the lid and lifted it very carefully, looking to Robb nervously before opening it completely.

A head of beautiful, but very mangled, copper red hair.

_Red through and through._

It took Sansa a moment to realize what it was that she was seeing. The eyes of the woman’s head were partially closed; her mouth parted in what might have been a scream or a shout that was damning someone to an icy hell. The ruby at her throat was still in place, though it did not glow as it once had. She was so pale she might’ve been translucent.

But it was certainly Melisandre and she was certainly dead.

Scratched and scraped and bloodied to hell, there was another thing for certain: she had not died quietly.

 

\---

 

The next day, when Sansa was free of Robb for a moment, she took to her room and barred the door. She was alone just long enough to dig the hand written letter out from beneath her bed. It was a page long and it had been heavily agonized over, with words scribbled out and sections written over. It had taken her a week to settle on and another week to memorize, though she had never gotten around repeating it to the maester after all.

She held it in her hands for a moment, thinking about what she might’ve done, and how she was so glad that she hadn’t.

And then she held the paper over a candle flame, letting it go up in smoke. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic feels very different from what I've been doing lately. It's also absurdly long, so let me end this by saying the next few fics I put out will probably be much, much shorter. In addition, I'm thinking of playing with more AUs and pairings (with Sansa, of course.) I would love to hear feedback of pairings you think I could write or would like to see me write.


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